


between the breaths

by wildlings (candybank)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, poly rights, reposted, spiraled, started as choir boy junhui and rock band minghao, tw druge use?..weed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-23 23:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17693033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candybank/pseuds/wildlings
Summary: between choir boys with crushes and cute boys in rock bands and trying to figure it out (and wonwoo flaking out on everyone all of the time.)





	1. two slow dancers

**Author's Note:**

> earnest attempt at a long(decent length) fic...:)

the first time junhui sees him, minghao is drenched in sweat and dim lights; black shirt with the sleeves ripped off, the curves and dips of his bare arms casting shadows on his skin that make junhui’s heart jump. and he has a guitar hanging on his body.

electric. black and white.

it’s junhui’s first time in a bar and it’s hot. he didn’t think it would be this hot, but it’s so hot that he has to unbutton his smart, pressed, purple polo shirt. “come on!” mingyu calls, beer spilling everywhere as he lifts his cup into the air and disappears into the crowd. not one for crowds, junhui doesn’t follow. he nods politely and says go ahead, though he knows his friends don’t hear him.

he steps back, back, back until he’s back at their table. it’s far from the stage and he has to squint to see the band, but at least the air is breathable.

and the band, they’re on stage. plugging instruments and testing mics and, “ _check_.  _check_.  _check_ ,” speaks the boy with the guitar into the microphone. his voice is breathy, and he’s leaning so close into the microphone that junhui thinks he might swallow it. “one, two, three,” he drawls, signaling someone to turn the volume up. it sounds kind of ridiculous, junhui thinks. and it looks kind of ridiculous, too. still, the more the boy with the guitar talks into the microphone, the harder it becomes for junhui to breathe. and as he sneaks a sip of seungcheol’s lukewarm beer, he hopes that he won’t have to hear guitar boy’s soft, intoxicating voice again for the rest of the night.

he has a guitar, right? he’s going to play the guitar and he won’t sing or talk again, right?

“hi,” guitar boy clears his throat, and junhui feels his own throat close up. “we’re seventeen. sing along if you know this song—“

and not a beat missed, guitar boy strikes the first note. and it’s loud. loud and louder and louder. speakers blaring the band, and people screaming and singing along to a rock song junhui has heard mingyu hum before, and junhui has a finger pressed against his ear when guitar boy’s lips touch the mic again.

 

***

 

junhui doesn’t know the word for it—for the feeling he gets when mingyu arrives fifteen minutes late for lunch with a new friend in tow. for the feeling he gets when he realizes the friend isn’t all that new, and the face is all too familiar. 

“hey, guys!” mingyu grins widely as he grabs a seat for himself and his friend, “this is minghao. guitar and vocals for seventeen, remember?” 

a chorus of oh yeah’s, and hi’s and nice to meet you’s greet him. and junhui doesn’t know the word for it—for the feeling he gets when minghao’s lips pull into a toothless smile, cheeks bunching up as he waves hello in response. he almost looks like an entirely new person, even with the same hair and the same shirt and the same soft, “hi.”

junhui coughs loudly. and he doesn’t know where it comes from, so he pretends his banana went down the wrong hole and he drinks all of his water in one go.

“jun, you okay?” mingyu looks at him in concern. 

tears in his eyes, he nods and smiles back, “went down the wrong hole. hi, minghao. i’m junhui.”

 

***

 

“minghao?” junhui didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he’s caught off-guard when minghao walks into his history class and sits behind him.

“hey,” minghao smiles back, as if he has seen junhui a million times before.

it takes a bit of courage and a lot of dry swallowing, but junhui turns around to face his new friend. “we have the same history class?” he asks stupidly.

minghao nods, as if the question is less stupid than it is. “yeah.”

“since when?”

“since… the start of the semester,” minghao laughs, and junhui feels embarrassed and endeared and minghao has a cute laugh. minghao runs his hands through his overgrown hair and it makes junhui want to choke himself.

“i…” and junhui pauses long enough to think of what to say, thirst tangling in his throat—it makes him burst into a coughing fit. quickly, he covers his mouth. and quickly, minghao leans forward to pat his back.

“are you sick or something? we should get you to the nurse." 

“no, i’m f—“

“come on,” minghao stands up, pulling his very sick friend into his caring arms, “let’s get you to the nurse.”

“ _keep coughing_ ,” he whispers quickly, laughing secretly. and junhui covers his mouth as he fakes more coughs so no one can see him smiling.

 

***

 

somewhere along the way to the nurse’s office, they take a detour out of an open door. straight across the soccer field and out of a crack in the fence. down the familiar sidewalk away from school, and away and away and away.

once they’re far enough from campus, minghao sheds his school uniform. wearing only a nondescript black shirt, now no one can fine him for lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke into the open air. 

abruptly, minghao stops walking. too busy looking at the sky above him and thinking about the trouble ahead of him, junhui bumps right into him. he had been walking so briskly that they would have crashed if minghao hadn’t put his hands on junhui’s shoulders.

“slow down,” minghao grins, cigarette between his teeth. he takes it out of his mouth and shoves it in between junhui’s fingers. “hold this,” he says, hurriedly undoing all the buttons of junhui’s uniform and pulling it off of his shoulders.

it takes all of five seconds to strip junhui of his student identity, but minghao’s standing so close that junhui feels the seconds pass like days. and when minghao pulls his shirt free from being tucked into his pants, junhui almost jumps.

but minghao doesn’t seem like he thinks anything of it. he takes the cigarette from junhui in exchange for his shirt. “you’re so skinny,” minghao comments offhandedly, eyes already someplace else.

junhui stares at him for a moment, feeling a little cold and insecure in his thin white undershirt. he doesn’t know how minghao can say that so easily when he looks like he weighs a couple pounds less, but the conversation has already faded when he thinks of something to say. 

“where are we going?” he speaks for the first time in what feels like years. his voice sounds so hoarse that he has to clear his throat, and he wonders if he really is sick. 

“band practice,” minghao answers coolly. he has finished his cigarette, but he keeps it pinched between his fingers until they find a garbage can.

 _conscientious_ , junhui thinks, despite looking at his watch and seeing that history class has ended.

 

*** 

 

they walk up to an old, abandoned house in a part of town junhui has never been to. it’s a quiet neighborhood like the rest of the small campus city, with one-story houses and old trees lining the empty road. in a few hours, parents will be walking and driving their children home from school. but for now, there is nothing but the sound of wind and a funky beat tapped on a moldy wooden door. 

the door creaks open and a boy about a foot shorter than the both of them peeks from behind it.

“hey, jihoon,” minghao smiles his toothless smile. 

the response is nothing but the door opening wider and the small boy walking back into the house. minghao closes the door behind them; he leads junhui past the staircase and the living room into what junhui guesses used to be a dining room. all the furniture has been replaced with a full-sized drum set, a set of small amplifiers and a bunch of mismatched chairs. two guitars rest carefully on stands, wires all around them, and he notices that the air is thick with something—something that makes it hard to breathe, something that makes him want to breathe.

 junhui takes a heavy inhale and exhales a cough. he doesn’t know how he missed the little rolls of white paper pinched between everyone’s fingers. and he doesn’t know how he didn’t recognize them immediately. 

the boys from the band. the band from the bar. this is the band from the bar from the night before. they had gone to band practice, exactly like minghao had said. he doesn’t know why he’s so surprised by this. he doesn’t know what he was expecting. but the puzzles slowly fit together, and junhui reminisces a time when his brain had working gears. 

to kick the gears back into motion (read: nervous habit), he pinches and pulls on his left earlobe. he continues to do it as he sits on an empty chair, watching minghao fall into conversations with his friends and forget about him, watching the air get thicker and thicker because nobody wants to open a window. 

“hey,” he feels loose fingers around his wrist. “stop that,” minghao says with a small laugh, looking at him curiously. 

junhui immediately glues his hand to his lap. minghao holds out something for him to take. junhui’s eyes flutter slowly to a thin thing of rolled-up some-thing, the end of it burning dully into charring paper. 

half a beat late, he shakes his head. “no thanks,” he feels the need to clarify.

“you don’t smoke?” minghao asks, almost as if he’s surprised. to this, junhui shakes his head again. “you don’t smoke weed? or... anything?”

 “nothing.”

“… ever?”

“… yeah…”

“wow.” 

minghao looks at him for a second, forcing a sweat to break and drip down the side of junhui’s head. then, minghao’s lips crack into a smile. junhui sees it in slow motion: the smile, the way he licks his lips, the way he leans down, all deliberate and sudden.

shocked, surprised—brain short-circuiting into hey, wait, what the fuck?— _instinctively_ , junhui leans away from him.

“wh—“

minghao’s face is so close to his that he forgets what he wanted to say. he feels something being pulled out of his back pocket, and he’s so panicked that his brain goes blank. what the fuck is minghao doing? is minghao robbing him? are they going to tie him up? is he going to die here? is minghao going to kiss him? what the fuck is minghao doing?

cheeky smile not painted nor hidden, minghao holds up junhui’s checkered handkerchief. he uses it to dab away at the sweat on the side of junhui’s face.

“it’s a little hot,” minghao says. “sorry.”

junhui blinks hard, thankful that his hands aren’t shaking like he imagines they are. “it’s fine,” he croaks out, “thanks.”

minghao bows his head, as if to graciously say ‘welcome.’ he stands up straight, takes a long drag of his—what do they call it?—joint? blunt? bong? junhui doesn’t know. but minghao seems to inhale and exhale a lot of it.

“sure?” minghao offers one last time.

off-beat again, junhui shakes his head politely.

“okay,” minghao says, walking away and picking up his guitar.

 

*** 

 

“you’re literally just horny,” chan laughs in his face on the way home from choir practice a month later. joshua shoots him a look that makes him stop. 

“i’m just saying,” chan clears his throat, “you’ve talked to this guy literally  _five_  times and suddenly you’re having wet dreams about him? if that’s not the definition of thinking with your—ding dong, then i don’t know what is.”

“it was a normal dream!” junhui retorts lamely. 

“don’t listen to him,” joshua pats junhui’s back helpfully, hiking the strap of his guitar bag up his shoulder. “i’m sure minghao likes you too!” he adds cheerfully.

junhui wishes he had his young friend’s optimism, but everytime he tries to think of any possible reason that minghao might like him back, he comes up blank.

“thanks, joshua,” he returns nicely, stopping in front of his house. “here’s me. i’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay? don’t forget to text mingyu and see how he’s doing.”

“why can’t he come to practice again?” chan blinks.

“shingles,” joshua answers. 

“…isn’t that like…a sex thing or something…?” chan returns. junhui heaves a heavy sigh and throws joshua a helpless stare. 

“alright, let’s go,” joshua herds chan away. “see you tomorrow, jun!”

 

***

 

he wakes up to 20 text messages and 4 missed calls. mingyu tries to blink the heavy weight of sleep from his eyes as he sits up. and he’s still for a moment—rubbing his eyes, yawning tiredly. the white numbers on his cellphone’s screen reads 1:06 AM, and he thinks that must be wrong, because it’s 1:06 AM on a tuesday and he doesn’t remember his sheets being red.

“ _fuck_ ,” he exclaims, suddenly jolted into a hurry. mingyu feels around the dark for his jeans and his shirt and his shoes until he realizes that he can’t see a fucking thing. blindly, he fumbles through the dark for the light switch. mingyu reaches the door and finally flips the switch on—groans following the flood of brightness.

from his place in bed, minghao stirs awake. “mm…” he grumbles, one eye open as he looks to his phone for the time. as mingyu hurries doing his belt and pulling on his shirt, minghao sits up to look at him.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” mingyu says in frustration.

minghao shrugs. “i fell asleep too." 

“my mom’s ‘gonna kill me.”

mingyu finishes tying his shoes, and he’s halfway to the door when minghao tugs at his shirt. on instinct, he turns around, and like a fly on a web, he gets caught in a kiss. 

minghao’s lips are soft, but cracked, and mingyu gets the uncontrollable urge to lick them so minghao won’t try to peel the skin off as he tends to. as soon as mingyu swipes his tongue across minghao’s lower lip, minghao pulls away chuckling.

“go home,” minghao says—generous advice or a taunt; mingyu can’t always read him. a little annoyed, a little charmed, feeling as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, mingyu kisses him again.

lips locked, noses bumping, hands forgotten. it’s sweet, and a little dirty, and minghao breaks it with his little laughs again. mingyu keeps him quiet with another kiss—fuller, deeper, bodies responding to the force of it. minghao’s arms around mingyu’s neck and mingyu’s arms around minghao’s waist, as if there’s nowhere else to go. as if there’s nowhere else to be but in the moment, in minghao’s room at one a.m. on a school night.

minghao doesn’t laugh again, so mingyu doesn’t bite his lip again. and they kiss for a long time, all pressed lips and blush and clothes clutched in between greedy fingers, and minghao chewing on his cheek so he won’t laugh when mingyu kisses his neck. 

“i ‘gotta go,” mingyu says, catching the time on wall clock from the corner of his eye. “my mom’s  _definitely_  ‘gonna kill me now.” 

minghao nods in understanding, and doesn’t try to stop him again when he walks out of the door.

(msg) minghao: see u tmrw?

(msg) mingyu: yeah

 

***

 

“you guys are close, huh?” junhui comments, stuck on a picture of mingyu and minghao on mingyu’s phone. it’s a party at wonwoo’s house, and he doesn’t know how he got invited when he’s sure wonwoo doesn’t know he exists, or how he ended up halfway drunk when he’s sure he hates beer, or why he’s looking through mingyu’s phone as if there’s a reason to do it, but he finds himself here.

“hm?” mingyu tears his attention away from the door to answer whatever question his friend is asking. he sees junhui staring at an old selfie of him and minghao. he remembers the picture as if he took it yesterday, although he’s sure it has been months.

months since he met first met minghao at one of his gigs. he remembers he was sad and confused about breaking up with jeonghan, he remembers seungcheol trying to cheer him up, saying come on, let’s go out tonight, there’s this great band playing at the bar, you don’t even need a fake i.d., i know the guard. he remembers barely agreeing, begrudgingly pulling on a jacket and dragging his feet to the edge of town. 

this is minghao, seungcheol had introduced them cheerfully. and minghao had looked at him for longer than a second, and he remembers thinking how adorable minghao looked in his mismatched red shirt-and-brown plaid jacket. hair all weird from not being gelled enough—some half-assed effort at doing something he probably didn’t want to do.

they had taken the picture, and mingyu had wished him good luck, and minghao had said i’m a little nervous, this is only our third time and the crowd’s so much bigger. and mingyu had said you’ll do great! and he did.

he remembers the celebratory drinks. some hazy after-party at an abandoned house, beer bottles in between his lips, then a joint, then minghao. he remembers being intoxicated and not much else. 

“not really,” mingyu shrugs nonchalantly. junhui’s not sure if he believes that, but saying anything else won’t lead anywhere, so he gives mingyu his phone back. 

junhui hesitates to say something, but mingyu looks at him long enough to catch it. “what?” mingyu tilts his head, looking at his friend curiously.

junhui thinks too long of what to say and ends up staring, jaw half-open. mingyu laughs at him, tapping his chin closed. “he’s not coming tonight, if that’s what you were going to ask.”

“… i thought you guys weren’t close.”

mingyu shoots him a stare that he doesn’t quite understand, a grin playing at his lips. “you like him?”

the silence that follows is all the answer that mingyu needs.

“everyone likes minghao,” he says.

“does minghao like anyone?” junhui practically blurts out.

mingyu pauses for a moment before answering with a shrug, “we’re not close.”

 

***

 

“junhui likes you,” mingyu says as he gets off of his knees to gargle listerine in the bathroom. 

“don’t get my dick hard again,” minghao warns jokingly, pulling up his jeans and buckling his belt. 

the hotel room they’d rented is so small and cheap that the sound of mingyu spitting into the sink echoes across all four corners of it.

“what?” mingyu says, laughing. he comes out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a tissue.

“what?” minghao returns, sitting up from where he’d laid down on the rickety bed. mingyu tilts his head in response, plopping down beside minghao. the cushion is so thin that it hurts to lie down. 

“your friend from the gig, right?” minghao says. mingyu answers with a small, affirmative ‘mm’ that makes him laugh. “he’s cute.”

“you like him?” 

“you?”

instead of an answer, mingyu shifts and puts his head on minghao’s lap. he hides his head under minghao’s shirt and peppers his tummy with butterfly kisses that make him laugh.

“i wanna suck your dick again,” mingyu says, sad sigh muffled.

this tickles minghao’s funny bone the most. “what?” he says, as if he didn’t hear it the firs time.

mingyu’s head pops out of his shirt and he says it again, “i want to suck your dick again,” he tells minghao, staring right at him.

minghao chuckles, cradling mingyu’s jaw in his palm and tracing his thumb across his lower lip. deliberately, he presses past his teeth, and mingyu sucks on his thumb and kisses his palm and his wrist like there’s something reverent about it.

he sighs again as he sits up. “i still can’t believe he flaked on us again.”

minghao laughs and pats mingyu’s thigh, “should i take jun to pizza?”


	2. come into the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wonwoo is generous and kind and thoughtful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing wonwoo yay (tw explicit)

mingyu goes at him like he’s the easiest thing in the world—the irony isn’t lost on him, because wonwoo is the exact opposite of easy. but he looks the part, anyway, pressed to the wall, open palms and heavy chest, trying to grab concrete and paint as mingyu pushes deeper into him. 

“faster,” slips out of him, slippery tongue and loose lips sinking the sanity ship. because mingyu isn’t difficult to talk to, isn’t difficult to convince. he follows instruction well, and he follows it quickly.

so, he’s pounding into wonwoo ‘ _faster’_ —just like he asked. and wonwoo is losing his head, noticing so little and seeing so many stars that he doesn’t remember mingyu bringing him back to bed. but the surface he’s laying on is soft now, and mingyu is spreading his knees apart and lining up between his open legs.

he might want to say something, he thinks. but anything he meant to say, or didn’t mean to, gets tangled up in his throat. mingyu thrusts back inside him, and the moan that tumbles out of wonwoo’s mouth is croaky and weird.

mingyu leans down as his hips find rhythm, pressing his lips against the bobbing protrusion on wonwoo’s throat. then, he stills wonwoo’s hips and goes, goes, goes—wonwoo shuts his eyes and chuckles awkwardly the way he does when he’s about to come. so, mingyu tells a joke—snaps his hips out of beat to coax the laugh out of wonwoo. laughter comes out in a breathy moan, spent and satisfied. and wonwoo tends to get lazy with it, but mingyu isn’t feeling particularly forgiving, so he makes the effort of climbing up wonwoo’s body, lifting his head by his hair, and pushing his cock into his friend’s mouth. as friends do.

and wonwoo, he knows what he has to do. and he knows he tends to get lazy with it, so he sucks mingyu’s dick as fast and as hard and as creatively as he can so he can come as soon as he can so wonwoo can shower as soon as he can, because he doesn’t like the way he smells after sex.

mingyu comes in hot streams down wonwoo’s throat, and wonwoo coughs so hard that his eyes go red. “ _jesus_ _fuck_ — _mingyu_ —can you _please_ warn me next time,” he spit-coughs into the tiny trash bin near his bed.

“can you text before flaking next time?” mingyu returns, as if spraying semen down someone’s throat is the punishment fit for the crime of not texting back. and it’s not, but wonwoo seems to agree.

“sorry, okay? i got held up with club stuff,” he says lamely, delicately cleaning himself up with four-ply tissue. the kind that mingyu imagines he can bind together and use as a notebook. it’s just that wonwoo is so ridiculously rich.

mingyu pulls on his boxers and walks eight miles to the bathroom connected to wonwoo’s room. he picks a mouthwash out of the three bottles sitting on wonwoo’s furniture store bathroom counter and gargles out of habit.

and wonwoo, he’s not big on cuddling after—at least, not after he showers. he walks into the bathroom as mingyu is spitting into the sink and starts herding him out.

“shoo, shoo,” he says softly, pushing mingyu playfully.

“let’s shower together,” mingyu offers, and wonwoo immediately shakes his head.

“ew,” he says, clearing his throat, “i like showering alone.”

“poorness isn’t contagious, y’know,” mingyu jokes, and wonwoo shoves him hard and locks the door.

 

***

 

wonwoo is thoughtful and generous and kind. he invites minghao to lunch, and he says it’s okay i’ll pay. and he tells the cashier keep the change no matter how much the change is. still, he drops spare coins into the tip jar. 

wonwoo is kind and generous and thoughtful. he invites minghao over whenever his parents aren’t home, which is all the time. he locks them in his room, cheese and crackers and sweet wine. he does minghao’s math homework then fucks him or lets minghao fuck him—whatever minghao wants. it’s what ever minghao wants, because

wonwoo is generous and kind and thoughtful. and he loves it when minghao says so. minghao says i ‘wanna come on your face, and wonwoo doesn’t love it so much when he says that. but he sighs and nods and closes his eyes and seals his lips. because it’s hot, he supposes, but not enough to make him want to go blind or swallow the aftereffects of minghao’s bad habits. 

he smokes too much, and drinks too much, and stays awake too late, wonwoo thinks. “i ‘wanna sleep over,” minghao says.

“only if you sleep before eleven,” wonwoo answers. minghao’s lips push into a pout, and he rolls over in bed to drape a heavy arm over wonwoo, tickling his side. wonwoo, extremely ticklish, he jerks violently, laughter erupting out of him. minghao seizes the chance and tickles him more deliberately. wonwoo squirms and laughs and tries to push minghao away with jelly arms, gums exposed and teeth bright in between ha-ha-ha’s and minghao’s and stop’s.

“okay,” minghao says, their hipbones brushing against each other, “i’ll sleep before eleven.

“’wanna call gyu?” he asks. wonwoo pauses, chews on his lip and pretends to be thinking of something else. something else besides the weird dynamic, the odd relationship, the unconventionality of fucking two guys at once—sometimes separately, and sometimes at the same time. it’s not that they’ll fuck if mingyu comes over, or that they won’t if he doesn’t. it’s just that it has been a few months of this, and he likes it, he does, but he still can’t quite wrap his head around the numbers. he answers with a shrug and a nod. 

“doesn’t he have choir practice or something?” wonwoo says, shifting to his side, placing his leg between minghao’s legs under the sheets. minghao welcomes the gesture, scooting over closer so that they’re cuddling—pretending it’s lowkey.

minghao nods and decides to call mingyu. mingyu answers the phone one failed attempt and four rings later.

“hey, what is it?” he asks, voice echoing as if he’s in an empty hallway. 

“we’re at wonu’s,” minghao says, “come over.”

“uh…” mingyu misses a beat, “how long will you guys be there? i got practice until nine.”

 _nine_?, wonwoo mouths incredulously, eyes growing big as he examines his fingernails, leaning in closer to rest his head on minghao’s shoulder. minghao moves his arm to accommodate him, to wrap around wonwoo’s shoulders. 

“i’m sleeping over,” minghao says. 

there’s a pause. wonwoo leans into the phone to hear static. 

“come over,” he says softly, leaning in so close to the speaker that his lips are practically brushing minghao’s; body practically on top of him.

mingyu misses another beat, and wonwoo feels offended.

“okay,” mingyu finally says, “but did you guys do the math sheet? can i copy?”

“yeah, yeah,” wonwoo answers for the both of them, shifting so clumsily that his lips crash with minghao’s, chin’s knocking against each other.

“ow,” minghao says. wonwoo laughs and says sorry, and kisses him. then, kisses him again noisily so that mingyu can hear.

“bring food,” minghao says, voice sounding awkward caught between words and half a kiss. “bye,” he barely gets it out, the static making the word sound gargled and under-water, because wonwoo is climbing on top of him and trying to wrestle him into staying still so he can drown him in kisses before he can cut the line.

 

***

 

minghao pouts a lot to get his way with them, and mingyu complains about this and that to them, but neither of them come close to wonwoo in terms of being a spoiled brat. it’s just that wonwoo is quiet about it. he doesn’t throw tantrums at every other small thing, doesn’t shout or yell or frown, but it’s easy to tell when he dislikes something—and he dislikes a lot of things.

he’s picky, though not always critical. but he knows what he likes and what he doesn’t like, and he’s not afraid to let everyone know.

“who’s junhui?” he asks over a slice of pepperoni pizza that he had grimaced at before eating. mingyu brought the wrong pizza from the wrong place. mingyu says the other place was closed, but this does nothing to make wonwoo less annoyed about it. 

there are some things that can’t be controlled—and this is a concept that wonwoo, with his mini mansion away from campus and his private car service and stocked trustfund and queen-sized bed, is still struggling to understand. 

“i’m in church choir with him,” mingyu answers, “i took him to your party last week.” 

what’s surprising is the pensive look on wonwoo’s face, as if he’s making a solid effort to remember a stranger’s face. what’s unsurprising is when he comes up blank.

“mm-mm,” he shakes his head, nibbling away at his food. “you guys ‘wanna…” he trails off, looking between them curiously, “like _, do it_ with him? like, both of you or…” 

mingyu, unsure of how the conversation even started, looks to minghao, whom he’s sure is the one who started the conversation. 

“stop looking at me like that!” minghao says accusingly, pointing at mingyu’s face and laughing. “you can’t tell me you haven’t thought of it, either.”

“not until you brought it up, honestly,” mingyu says, the words coming out too easily—unfiltered. he surprises even himself, and hides his shock behind another pizza bite.

“so, you agree? you _have_ thought of it?” minghao teases, wonwoo turning to mingyu, looking amused.

mingyu doesn’t know what to say to that—pretends he doesn’t want to dignify the prosecution by acknowledging their statement. he rolls his eyes and wipes his oily hands on a tissue. “’gimme the activity sheet,” he says, pulling out a pencil and a piece of paper from his bag. 

minghao laughs at him, handing over the homework as he takes a swig of soda.

“we could invite him here,” wonwoo says nonchalantly, watching mingyu so closely that he doesn’t miss the expression that crosses his face. surprised, scandalized, panicked—but only mildly. 

“that’s weird,” mingyu says, eyes transfixed on the papers in fornt of him, transferring answers from one sheet to another.

wonwoo shrugs, obviously not motivated enough to think of a fancier workaround.

“i could go on a date with him,” minghao offers, laying down on the carpet. 

“yeah,” wonwoo blindly agrees.

mingyu pretends he’s too busy not-doing his homework. “in his mind, you’ve already been on three-and-a half dates,” he tells minghao, eyes never leaving his pencil strokes.

minghao stares at the ceiling. “i guess,” he says after a moment, crossing his feet and tapping them to an invisible beat.

“what does he like?” minghao asks, turning over so he’s lying on his belly, chin cradled by the heels of his palms, blinking at mingyu so that he can’t say no.

 

***

 

karmic law, he thinks. it’s karma for trying to skip half of class. junhui was on his way to while away the rest of boring physics class by eating a sandwich outside an exit that’s always left unlocked when he walks into two boys kissing. 

he’s too far away for them to see him or hear him, so they don’t stop. at first, he doesn’t recognize them, but a squint makes guessing too easy. it’s mingyu and minghao, with minghao pressed back against the wall and mingyu towering a few inches over him, their faces pressed so close that it’s impossible for it to be anything but kissing. minghao laughs, the kiss breaks. they exchange a few words before mingyu leans forward to kiss minghao again, bodies pressing closer to, and when mingyu grinds his hips, junhui takes it as his cue to leave.

he’s careful not to make a sound as he runs away. at first, his mind is blank. he doesn’t know where to go. one hand holding a sandwich, the other cold and useless, his feet carry him to the bathroom, where he locks himself behind a stall and tries to process what he just saw.

he doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. it’s not like he didn’t know mingyu was into guys. but there’s something about it that catches him off-guard—severely off-guard. he wonders if it’s because he doesn’t know minghao well enough to see him like that, or if it’s because it’s mingyu and minghao, and mingyu had said they weren’t close.

then, the feeling of it creeps in. a kind of betrayal, trailed by jealousy. it reaches his fingertrips and spreads through his body in a way that makes his blood cool, blue. standing there for minutes, he finally concludes that he’s sad—what for, he’s not entirely sure. 

he doesn’t know why he’s sad. he thinks about it as he throws his sandwich into the bin, washes his hands and splashes his face with water. it’s not like he thinks mingyu doesn’t deserve happiness. it’s not like he’s a horrible friend. he thinks about it as he makes his way back to class, steps slow, one after the other. maybe, he thinks, finally acknowledging it out loud in his own mind, it’s because he has a crush— _had_ a crush. maybe he’s sad that mingyu lied to him when he asked about minghao, that mingyu never mentioned minghao before. it’s not like he’s selfish. it’s not like he wants to think about it anymore.

he spends the rest of the day trying to put it out of his mind, which is why minghao coming up to him at his locker catches him completely, _completely_ off-guard. again, yet again.

let’s go have pizza, minghao says, or… whatever you ‘wanna eat. let’s go have dinner.

junhui stares at him for a long second, tilting his head, trying to figure out the best course of action. trying to figure out how to separate the minghao standing in front of him with the minghao from that morning.

“i ‘gotta go,” he ends up saying, feeling awful and feeling confused as he slams his locker and shuffles away, pulling out his phone to find mingyu immediately.

 

***

 

“what is it?” mingyu asks, tilting his head.

and junhui is uncomfortable. mingyu can tell by the way he keeps looking everywhere else, by the way he looks like he’s trying to think of words he already knows.

“he’s… your…” the words are hard to thread, hard to string together. “minghao,” he says,” he’s… cheating… on you.” 

mingyu stares at him for all of a moment, eyebrows pushing together, painting a question mark over his face.

“i saw you guys near the boiler room,” junhui blurts out, “then he asked me out earlier and i said no because i don’t know if—“ 

he’s cut off by mingyu’s laugh, his hand on his shoulder, the sigh that leaves him—more relieved than exasperated or surprised. “it’s… it’s not like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also worth mentioning that this is a boarding school au...? everyone lives in dorms except wonwoo, who lives in a nearby gated community bec rich baby...this is shaping up to be a bully (video game) au, tbh....but idk ill see!


	3. geyser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if what he's feeling is true, then the entire science of physics is a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got waywayway more attached to these characters and their relationships than i thought i would tbh......so this might become longer than i thought it would be. this fic is more character/relationships-centric than plot-driven at this point i think..im living for it hope u like x

“okay…” junhui breathes, but his eyes say i don’t get it.

mingyu doesn’t blame him. he doesn’t get it either, really. he doesn’t get how two objects can occupy the same space, how something like a fleeting feeling can disprove the laws of physics, how he can _like_ minghao and wonwoo all at the same time in all the same ways. he doesn’t get it, although he has understood it since before he broke up with jeonghan, since before he even met minghao.

and they’re at a point in the road here. a kind of crossroads or fork road, and it becomes increasingly apparent that mingyu led them out here with chicken scribbles on a paper for a map. junhui stares at the diverging roads, not knowing where they lead, which one is less traveled, and he wishes he were a flower in a bush or a cloud in the sky so he wouldn’t have to choose where to go.

as if anyone is making him choose.

“we’re…” mingyu clears his throat, thinking what he’s about to say is stupid, but having nothing else to say. “i’m going to wonwoo’s house later. minghao will be there, too. we usually hang out after school when wonwoo’s parents are out of town,” he continues, trying to chop up his message into bite-sized pieces so junhui won’t choke and run to a hospital.

leap of faith, he touches junhui’s arm—squeezes, and puts on an awkward half-smile that makes junhui wildly more uncomfortable.

junhui laughs, “why are you making that face?”

mingyu sighs, shaky laugh, runs his hand down his face. “i don’t know,” he says, as if he’s giving up on something, “i don’t know,” he repeats. “just come, alright? they’ll… be happy to see you there.”

and junhui, not one for missing social occasions where people are anticipating him, he says okay.

 

 ***

 

junhui asks for the story while they wait for pizza, so mingyu tongues his cheek as he tries to think of the easiest way to say this.

he doesn’t know how to say it, how to say: i broke up with jeonghan because he didn’t get it, not that i do at all, but he didn’t get it and i did, kind of. so, i broke up with him, and i met minghao and he was, you know this, he was handsome and he was nice to me and he gave me attention the way i wanted. so, i met minghao, and we fucked, but more than that, we liked each other. so, i went on fucking him and liking him and fucking him and liking him. then, he started fucking and liking and fucking and liking wonwoo, and i don’t know have the words for it, i just know that minghao introduced me to him and he was wonderful. and all i could think of was that i wanted what minghao had with him, what i had with minghao, i wanted that with wonwoo, too. i don’t get it, either, really.

but you know wonwoo, he’s a star in the sky, unreachable if you don’t stretch your arm enough to tear your ligaments. so, i broke my bones. you know wonwoo, he’s a regulation hottie, he talks in tiny words and whispered phrases and if you press him hard enough against a wall, he’ll cry your name, all breathy. wonwoo, he’s textbook sexy, and he gives me everything that i would never ask for because he’s good at that, knowing what you need and knowing that you’ll never ask for it, and he’s even better at giving it to you. but that’s not why i liked him. i liked him because i liked him, and neither of them asked me why—why? what reason? as if we ever need a reason.

it’s simple, really, though it doesn’t seem like it. more than reading notes on a music sheet or matching scales, junhui, oh god junhui, oh god i wish you knew, it’s the simplest thing in the world. being with minghao and wonwoo is the simplest thing in the world.

he doesn’t know how to say this, where to start, so he says, “what do you want to know?”

 

***

 

wonwoo’s house is huge. junhui has been here only once before—for a party that he doesn’t quite remember. but seeing it now, with no crowds and all the lights on, in all it’s shiny oversized glory, makes it look like a completely different place.

this is someone’s _house_ , he thinks to himself in bewilderment, holding pizza boxes in his hands. wonwoo opens the door and seems entirely too at home. junhui wonders how many times he has been here before.

the inside of it is exactly how junhui imagined it would be—like the pages of a furniture catalog. shiny and new and way too clean, as if no one lives there but the maids that sweep the floor.

out of the diamond pile emerges a classmate’s familiar face. jeon wonwoo, in their school’s P.E. shirt and branded trackpants, hair slightly damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower fifteen minutes ago, looking as if he couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else.

his face lights up easily, eyes brightening and smile pulling at his lips. he opens his mouth to say something, then closes it abruptly when he sees junhui. “oh, hi,” he says, voice soft as feathers, eyes flickering between the both of them, “is this junhui. 

you’re junhui,” he says, slow recognition filling his stare, “oh, yeah. you _are_ in the choir.” and junhui doesn’t know what to make of that, or of mingyu nodding to it.

“oh, you got it,” he chimes again, sounding as if he’s in a constant state of delight, “put it down in the kitchen.” wonwoo walks away from them, clearly expecting them to follow. and so, like moths to a light, they follow. 

wonwoo flutters across the marble floors like he’s skating on ice, while junhui is caught walking half-steps, trying not to scrape the surface with his calloused feet. he sets the pizza box down on the kitchen island and finds himself drinking water out of a sparkly glass—wonwoo watching him, staring every now and again.

although junhui sings with the church choir for events celebrated by up to a thousand people, he has never before been bathed with so much attention all at once, all by himself. now, with wonwoo standing a few steps away from him, eyes fluttering between mingyu and himself, junhui doesn’t quite know how to act.

he squirms under the attention a bit, like a worm under a sun and a microscopic glass. he tries to look at anything else, at his feet, at the shiny countertop, at the pretty lights on the ceiling. but he always finds himself staring back at wonwoo. wonwoo is talking to mingyu about something that junhui can’t quite make out. every now and then, he looks to junhui, then says something to mingyu, then his lips pull into a sparkly smile or a laugh, and junhui finds himself thinking about how handsome he really is.

of course, he has seen wonwoo before. a quiet kind of golden boy, like a well-written character that stepped out of a multi-awarded soon-to-be-a-motion-picture coming-of-age novel, with his stellar grades and competitive track time and stunning good looks. but, now, standing awkwardly in his house, a few feet away from him, junhui finds that he has never really _looked_ at him before.

he’s handsome, in a quiet way, like an apple on a tree hiding behind the leaves. and his eyes droop a little at the corners, which makes his face almost comical when he smiles, when the corners of his lips turn up easily into the sky. 

as if sensing his discomfort, as if feeling his stare, wonwoo sends junhui a smile. “let’s go sit,” he says, leading the way to the living room, “i’m not sure where minghao is.” 

“i’m sure he’ll be here soon,” mingyu speaks, almost as if to complete wonwoo’s sentence, eyes on his phone screen as he walks after them. 

and junhui, all he can really do is follow and nod and smile. he’s not sure what to say, or how, or when. he sits on the large couch, and wonwoo sits next to him, and when mingyu chooses to sit on a completely different chair, junhui considers throwing a pillow at his head.

“so, junhui,” wonwoo starts, polite, conversational the way people who know how to hold a conversation are, looking at junhui as if he wants to really know him, “how long have you been in choir with mingyu?”

“i—“

“he thought hao was _cheating_ on me,” mingyu says suddenly, chuckling as he puts his phone down. junhui’s eyes, wide as saucers, wide with horror, they shoot up to throw mingyu an incredulous glare. 

it makes mingyu laugh. “what? you did,” mingyu pushes junhui’s ears red. 

wonwoo chuckles, sounding as if he’s on junhui’s side, “completely understandable,” he assures him. he’s smiling softly, and it’s not until he pats junhui’s hair that junhui realizes he had looked to wonwoo for help. 

feeling a little embarrassed, a little overwhelmed, overstimulated, junhui opens his mouth to say something. 

“hey,” comes a voice from the hallway. he looks behind him to see minghao, all thrift-store shirt and denim jeans and chains, backpack on one shoulder and guitar case on the other. he looks a little wrecked, like he’s just been in a small fight, with the mildly tousled hair and the small cut on his lip.

he walks to them, eyes on junhui, looking taken off-guard and entirely unsurprised by him. minghao leans his guitar gently against one of the chairs and drops his bag on the floor.

“what happened to your lip?” wonwoo frowns, getting up and disappearing into a hallway. mingyu must know the answer, because he doesn’t look up from his phone to ask. 

minghao, seeming unbothered, he plops down on the couch beside junhui, taking wonwoo’s spot. “you really came. i thought mingyu was kidding,” a laugh tries to pull at his lips, but it doesn’t get far before it turns to, “ow ow ow.” and the cut spreading to bleed again.

and junhui, moving before he can realize it, he pulls his shirt sleeve over his hand and leans forward to press the cloth against minghao’s mouth wound. “what— did… you get into a fight?”

he’s sitting close enough that he can see the emotions pass through minghao’s eyes; minghao’s gaze turns soft, lids lowering as he nods. 

and junhui, he’s about to say something, something like oh my god, where, when, are you hurt anywhere else, are you okay? when mingyu interjects, “he got hit in the face with a guitar during practice.” when minghao narrows his eyes at him, mingyu rolls his. 

wonwoo arrives just then with a first-aid kit that looks like a mini-hospital. he sets it down on the table, and as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, as if he has treated wounds before, he takes out little bottles of this and that.

“thanks,” he says to junhui before replacing his shirt sleeve with medical care.

“say i was in a fight so junnie’ll be impressed,” minghao chuckles, words muffled by lips he can’t move.

and junhui, with minghao’s blood bright red on his sleeve, he’s not sure what to say to that. wonwoo finishes treating and dressing the wound, and he’s packing up the kit when minghao leans forward and presses still, bandaged lips to wonwoo’s cheek.

and wonwoo, ears a light pink, he smiles to himself, stare fluttering quickly from minghao to junhui and the task at hand. minghao ghosts his lips over wonwoo’s face, as if peppering his cheek with kisses, until wonwoo clicks the kit’s lock shut.

“i’ll get you some water,” he says quietly before he leaves.

minghao nods, squeezing wonwoo’s arm as he goes. and maybe he can’t talk much then, because no one says anything right after wonwoo disappears.

“i wouldn’t be impressed,” junhui says suddenly, throat itching so badly to tell minghao this that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, “if you were in a fight, i mean. 

minghao looks at him for a moment, looking as if he doesn’t want to talk, but he still says, “what do you look for in a guy, then?”

and junhui, he’s not sure if that’s a question asking for an answer, because minghao always sounds like he’s joking, and junhui thinks, maybe he is this time. mingyu says that minghao’s lip got caught in a guitar string during practice because he’s a fucking idiot, and junhui looks at the time. it’s a little past nine, and he thinks it’s impressive, if minghao was really in band practice for all the hours between school and now. 

i don't know, but i like you, i think, junhui thinks to say to him, as he glances at him and thinks, too, of smoothing his hair down with his fingers.

“comb your hair. you look like you got run over,” mingyu tells minghao, motioning with his hand on his own head, as wonwoo arrives with a glass of water and a comb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ot4 is so cute imo omg :(

**Author's Note:**

> wish i could say it gets better but it doesnt.. im having sm fun writing this<3 (reposted from another acct)


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